


First Contact Crack

by Reyka_Sivao



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: First Contact
Genre: Alcohol, Crack, First Contact, Gen, House of Trek, Naked Cuddling, No Sex, Nudity, Public Nudity, Telepathy, Vulcans, casual nudity, just naked people, naked cuddle party, no alcohol involved in the writing just in-story, no coercion, only people who are ok with being naked, surprisingly enough, the most g-rated naked cuddle party you're likely to come across, utter crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-11 23:14:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7911322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reyka_Sivao/pseuds/Reyka_Sivao
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Vulcans make first contact with humans, and everyone winds up naked.<br/>Because really, is it THAT much kinkier to Vulcans than a handshake?</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Contact Crack

Once upon a time there was an earth that had never contacted aliens, until one day they contacted aliens.  This was, for inscrutable reasons, called “First Contact”.

Actually, there was really more than enough “contact” involved to justify the name on multiple levels, but that’s getting ahead of things.

The aliens were Vulcans, at least on this planet, and the humans, for the most part, were humans.  Then again, it was a very strange day even by the standards of “meeting aliens for the very first time”, and there are rumors that there was at least one mer-person, an elf, and a very genre-confused hobbit.  But those are only rumors.  There were also rumors of Douglas Adams smoking something in the corner, but those are fairly well supported and probably true.

Zefram Cochrane was a brilliant engineer to all-but-singlehandedly create a warp drive, which was sparkly enough to catch the Vulcans’ attention in the first place, but he was also, at least in this version of reality, a consummate practical jokester. 

“Hey,” he said, leaning over to Lily Sloane when it became apparent that there were about to be aliens emerging from the spaceship that had just landed.  “Let’s convince them that humans’ traditional greeting is flashing each other.”

“Good thing I’m wearing my E.T. pasties,” she said.

“Same,” said Zefram.

The door opened, and three incongruously human-looking nonhumans stepped out, tall and pointy and slightly greenish, and very, very dignified, like cats trying to pretend they’re ignoring the bouncing red dot.

“Live long and prosper,” said one of them, doing some kind of spaghetti gang sign with his hand.

“Uhhhh same,” said Cochrane, pinching his own fingers into roughly the same shape, which for some reason made the aliens go slightly greener.  “And now,” he said, glancing backward and seeing Sloane whispering in the ear of one of the gathered crowd that had showed up behind him, “let us return the favor in our traditional human fashion.”

He ripped his shirt open, and behind him the whole crowd did the same.  An inordinate number of them seemed to have independently decided to wear the most inappropriate of pasties under clothes they had had no reason to think would leave the vicinity of their bodies.  In addition to ET, UFOs, a couple of Death Stars, and a bunch of actual stars, there was at least one pair of triangular arrow-ish shapes that somehow seemed to fit the setting despite no one there ever having seen a Starfleet logo before, mostly because it was anachronistic by a good century.

The Vulcans looked at each other.

“Is it….customary to respond in kind?”

“Yes.”

Zefram Cochrane had a _legendary_ pokerface.

The Vulcans conferred for a moment, and then one of them walked back to the ship with a pose that really didn’t seem complete without a nice double-bird.  Then again, you couldn’t really see his hands in the robe, so you never knew.

“It’s all the better for the traditional naked snuggle greeting party,” added Cochrane without twitching.

A cheer went up from the crowd, who was apparently totally into the idea.

The two remaining Vulcans looked at each other, and then one of them shrugged and pulled open his conveniently-wrap-style undershirt to show off a pair of greenish but otherwise mostly human-normal nipples.  Apparently, the unconscious pasty memo had not reached out into space.

“My name’s Zefram Cochrane,” said Zefram Cochrane.

“Solkar,” said Vulcan, right before getting hit in the face by a flying pair of shorts.

“….sorry about that,” said Cochrane.  “That part’s not traditional.  They’re just getting excited.”  He pointed backwards over his shoulder without actually looking to see what level of nudity had been reached.

It much have been getting up there, though, because the non-Solkar Vulcan took one look and started backing up the ramp to the ship.  “I should…probably…feed my Sehlat.”

Solkar glanced back.  “Your Sehlat is on Vulcan.”

“Then logically it has been quite some time since I fed her.  Good day.”  The door into the ship slammed shut despite being automatic.

Solkar shrugged and pulled the shorts off his head.  “You were saying?”

\--

All in all, it was a fairly successful first-alien-contact naked cuddle party, considering there was only one actual alien in attendance. Who was, after carefully explaining that, as a touch-telepath, he would probably be able to read their surface thoughts on contact, was strongly encouraged to use it as a party trick.

“What am I thinking of?” said the young man leaning against Solkar’s right arm as he sat cross-legged on top of someone else’s pants.

“The color blue.”

“What about me?” said an older woman who’d stuck a hand against his shoulders for the purpose.

“Nipples,” said Solkar, and then pondered a moment.  “Not mine.”

“Two can play at that game,” said Cochrane, who was laying down, watching the slowly appearing stars, with his hands behind his neck and his head on Solkar’s left knee.  “ _You’re_ thinking it gets too goddamn cold on this planet.”

“….not in so many words.”

Before anyone could say anything else, some benefactor dumped a pile of blankets on the whole group.  “Bonfire, right this way!”

Cochrane rolled up to his feet in time to see Solkar pull the blanket off his face.  “Heh.  Sorry.  We keep doing that to you.”

“I find the blanket preferable,” said Solkar, deadpan.

Cochrane let out a burst of laughter.  “I like you already,” he said.  “Say, do you drink?  Uh…alcohol, I mean?  Because I think today deserves a toast.”

Solkar frowned slightly.  “Does that not induce blood toxicity in humans?”

Cochrane laughed.  “Yeah, that’s the whole point.  I’ll meet you at the bonfire and introduce you to the _other_ old earth tradition of getting _completely hammered_.”

“…are all human traditions predicated on the notion of taking a situation and making the worst possible decision?”

“Now you’re getting the hang of it.”

Solkar stood and wrapped the blanket around himself.  “A fascinating philosophy.”

Cochrane moved gracelessly away on half-numb feet.  “If that’s a diplomatic way of saying you think we’re all fucking idiots, I concur.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s no way in hell I’m ending this day sober.”


End file.
